


a bit of danger (to spice up the evening)

by EJ (girlwitham4carbine)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, also its not really that violent, im the funny dialogue guy, its spies you know the drill, mention of choking, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 02:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4504197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlwitham4carbine/pseuds/EJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joel Heyman, 43 years of age, ridiculously famous Hollywood television actor. A ridiculously famous Hollywood television actor who somehow got dirt on some terrorists, attempted to blackmail them in exchange for a huge sum of money and got himself thrown into the back of a van on his walk home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a bit of danger (to spice up the evening)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amari/gifts).



> why didn't i put this up here two months ago idk im sorry
> 
> originally posted here: http://ejraptor.tumblr.com/post/121409246894/a-bit-of-danger-to-spice-up-the-evening

“But I’m just saying, if the gold market continues as it is-” 

“Oh my god,  _shut up_!” 

Ray was going to kill him. He was actually going to kill the hostage, who he dodged knives, bullets and an occasional rocket to take back from this month’s terrorist organization. Being an agent for the CIA was a fucking mess, always one mission (read: life-or-death situation) after another. Ray sometimes regrets choosing the career path, but then he gets his paycheck at the end of every other week and quickly squashes those regrets. 

But even the stellar paycheck couldn’t make up for the current problem child of his job. 

“Mr. Secret Agent, please. We might as well make conversation.” 

Ray groaned, loud and exaggerated, yanking at his hair until he was convinced clumps of it would rip off. Joel Heyman, 43 years of age, ridiculously famous Hollywood actor. A ridiculously famous Hollywood actor who somehow got dirt on some terrorists, attempted to blackmail them in exchange for a huge sum of money and got himself thrown into the back of a  van on his walk home. He was lucky he didn’t get tortured  _too_  bad, his big mouth and haughty smirk on his face oh so punchable even to the trained secret agent put in charge of rescuing him. 

“Alright, you want conversation? Why did you think it was a  _fantastic_ ideato try to blackmail some terrorists?!” 

Joel shrugged, his shoulder popping with the motion. The noise echoed in the small side hallway they were hiding in, and Ray tensed. They were in some sort of office building turned hideout, small closets and rooms with zero furniture providing them with much needed hiding spots. It would keep them from getting shot for the time being. They were quiet a moment longer before Joel responded. 

“Why not? I was bored.”

“You were bored? You didn’t consider taking up a hobby? Like underwater basket weaving, or something that doesn’t come with a risk of kidnapping and torture?“

The man laughed, quiet but genuine despite the circumstances.

“I guess I just wanted a little danger.”

A loud clang cut off any further explanation and Ray quickly grabbed the pistol resting at his feet. Guess they would need a new hiding spot for now. His other hand latched onto Joel’s wrist, quickly pulling him around the closest corner and trying to stay quiet. 

“We have no idea how many guards there are, but we’re only a few levels from the roof and we have a chopper waiting for us. So shut up and let me get you out of here.” 

“I’m in your hands, agent.” 

Ray grumbled a  _‘what happened to being quiet?’_ before continuing on, pistol raised near his head ready to strike or shoot. Joel obeyed his order to stay quiet, the shit-eating grin not leaving his face. 

It  _should_ have been a simple escape.

Instead, Joel managed to alert every single guard to their location. He broke the ‘no talking’ rule on more than one occasion, trying to fit in a horribly timed pun that sent them sprinting as fast as possible from an onslaught of bullets (”So, do you save hostages often?” “No shit, that’s my job- FUCK!”). When Joel managed to trip on air and sent the only filing cabinet in the entire fucking building crashing down, Ray ended up pistol whipping three guards into dream land. He even walked right past Ray and slammed right into a guard, the two of them forced to hold him down and choke him out. (“Look, I only have two guns and I’m TOO TINY TO CHOKE ANYONE OUT BY MYSELF. Please stay behind me.”)

When they finally made it to the roof, it was in a flurry of bullets and knives barely missing their heads. The helicopter was lifting off the ground when they jumped in, speeding off and barely avoiding another of those pesky rockets. Ray couldn’t take deep enough breaths, sinking deep into the cushions of the helicopter and making sure that yes, his heart was still beating. He felt smug when he saw that his rescuee was in a similar state, busy muttering ‘ _holy shit oh my god_ ’ over and over again.

“So how’s that for danger, Heyman?”

Joel looked up at the call of his name, his face calculating for a moment before returning to that goddamn smirk.

“Not bad, agent. Not bad.”

When the helicopter finally make it back to headquarters, they’re both quickly whisked away to give their reports and get checked for injuries. Ray was about to head home when he ran into the person who’s life he was in charge of just a few hours before.

“They’re letting you go already? Jeez, the CIA these days.”

“I’m good to go. No injuries, and I get a CIA car trailing me everywhere I go for the next year or so.”

“Ah, the perks of being a famous actor.”

Joel laughed, the same genuine tone filling the air as during their escape. Ray found it just the slight bit endearing this time.  “Alright, agent. It’s been a pleasure.”

Ray let out a snort.

“Okay, the situation wasn’t a pleasure-”

“Understatement of the year.”

“ _But._  It would definitely be more of a pleasure if we could grab lunch together sometime?”

“Not a chance in hell, Heyman.”

(“We’ll see about that.”)

(“No we won’t.“)


End file.
